Matters of the Monster
by akmdreamer
Summary: Harry is having girl trouble, and doesn't know who to talk to. HP/RL bonding, HP/GW pairing with a very subtle hint of RL/NT. Enjoy! R


**Legal Spiel: Okay, so I got tired of "Disclaimer". Sue me. Or...you know...don't, because I don't own Harry Potter, nor do I claim to, but I DO think he's cute. :P**

It was three days into Easter vacation that Harry couldn't take it anymore. That big bloody scaly thing that rattled his ribcage like the bars of a prison whenever he thought of Ginny was driving him crazy. He couldn't think straight, and he had to constantly remind himself that he had always rather liked Dean Thomas, and that it was _not_, in fact, a good idea to jinx him until he was unrecognizable.

Finally, he concluded that he needed to talk to someone.

Ron was out of the question: That conversation simply couldn't end well. Hermione was a girl, and thus, he reasoned, no easier to understand than Ginny herself. He didn't reckon Neville would be able to help much with this particular issue, and no matter how much he liked and even respected Luna, he really didn't need an answer that had anything to do with Wrackspurt.

Harry realized, with a sickening jolt somewhere below his Chest Monster, that at the moment he longed more than anything to speak to Sirius. Immediately, he felt his spirits sink lower as he pondered the fact that Sirius, no doubt, had seen this coming. Harry only now understood the pointed remarks he'd directed at Harry about the pretty little redhead, often about just _how _pretty (and redheaded...something about Potters and a curse?) she was.

Though the day was rather nice as spring blinked sleepily at the world and considered waking up, not quite stretching out and yawning but quivering and sighing, Harry suddenly felt rather chilly.

He stood on the front lawn of the Burrow with his hands sheathed in the pockets of his jeans. His head was ducked at the glare of the sun, still cold and harsh with the lingering memory of winter.

Harry let out a slow, measured breath, releasing it with thoughts of his beloved godfather. As he pulled himself together, he heard the telltale _pop! _of someone Apparating just beyond the wards that faded the world outside the burrow to dull colors and smeared outlines. The wards themselves seemed nothing but a soft shimmer of sunlight, like head lingering and blurring the edges of a bonfire on a summer evening. A moment later, the magic rippled slightly and the form of Remus Lupin seemed to solidify. The careworn werewolf strode forward and, as he recognized Harry, waved and called to him cheerfully.

"How are you holding up, Harry?" he inquired, coming to a halt just in front of his best friend's son.

Harry choked back his customary "I'm fine", and blurted out instead, "Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about something."

He knew right away that he'd made the right choice when Remus smiled, placed a guiding hand on Harry's shoulder and said, "Order business can wait a bit. Lets go around back and you can tell me what's on your mind."

The back porch was adorned with a few wicker chairs and an old bench swing, potted plants overflowing from their containers in carefree tangles that framed the railing and spilled over everywhere they could reach.

Remus settled into a chair that creaked but seemed to welcome the intrusion rather than protest. Harry threw himself onto the swing, propping himself against one arm and planting his feet on the seat, his arms draped over his knees.

"So," Remus sighed, leaning forward on his arms. "What's this about? Not Snape and the Malfoy boy again?"

"No," Harry chuckled ruefully. He paused, directing his gaze at his fingers, flexing them and pondering their movements, considering his next words carefully.

"Have you ever wanted something..._desperately_? Something that you can't have? That...you sort of had a chance at getting once, but never did, and by the time you knew you wanted it someone else had it?"

Remus narrowed his eyes, searching Harry's face.

"And would this 'thing' happen to be a person?"

Harry lowered his eyes and tapped his knee agitatedly. Finally, he gave a slow nod.

"I thought so," Remus teased lightly, chuckling.

"Are you just going to take the mickey?" Harry grumbled.

"No, no," Remus insisted, pushing his smile down. "Truth be told, I'm having the same sort of problem," he admitted a little reluctantly. "Though," he hurried on evasively, clearly not wanting to answer questions, "I suspect your situation is a bit different than mine."

Harry shrugged, suddenly not wishing to talk about it at all. yet a moment later he found himself saying, "I get this feeling...right here, like something is clawing at my stomach."

Even as he said it, he winced at how stupid it sounded, and wasn't surprised when Remus' laughter deepened.

"You really are just like your father," he said after a moment, as though confiding a deep secret. "Is she a redhead?" he asked slyly, glancing none-too-subtly at the ramshackle house behind them.

Harry gaped at the werewolf incredulously.

"That's what I thought," Remus chirruped gleefully.

"Fine," Harry sighed. "She's...a redhead," he admitted bracingly, casting his own surreptitious glance at the Burrow.

Remus shook his head. "No, it's not just any redhead, and that's the point. It's Ginny Weasley, and you're worried about Ron."

Harry decided to admit defeat. He was, after all, speaking with a former Marauder. Why had he expected to be able to keep any shred of secrecy in the first place? he wondered.

"That's part of it," he said, nodding. "A big part of it. But...it's just...she also has a boyfriend."

Remus sat back in his chair, his eyebrows raised. "Oh. Ouch," he commented.

Harry's face twisted into a bitter smile. "So, any advice?" he asked, a halfhearted attempt at cheekiness.

Remus smiled a little sadly. "She waited for you. Now it's your turn."


End file.
